Salty sea breeze tousled Pat's hair. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the scent of sand and sea and smiled. Living in the landlocked midwest, Pat had dreamed of the ocean for years. On her fortieth birthday she was struck with the fear of not living her dream. She decided to take all of her vacation days and drive to the California coast.

She found a beach side house for rent. The moment she arrived, she threw open the windows while she changed clothes. She practically danced down the steps to the sand.

On the third day, she sat watching surfers and other morning beach goers. The daring of the surfers captivated her. People on mere boards challenging, yet working as one with the waves peppered the water.

Then she saw him. A lone surfer not one with the various packs. He looked to be picking and choosing the largest waves. She took note of his chiseled body beneath his wetsuit and his tousled, sun-bleached hair. She spent her time making up stories about who he might be, what kind of adreniline drenched job he must have.

An hour later, the beach became more crowded and the lone wolf made his way from the ocean, his board under his arm. His eyes met Jan's and he changed his course, walking to her.

"Hi!" he greeted her.

"Hi yourself."

I haven't seen you around here before. My name is Tom."

"Jan," she answered.

He sat in the sand next to her. His eyes matched the sky and were full of curiousity.

"Do you live here?" he asked.

"No. I'm on vacation."

"Me too," he said.

As conversation danced from general pleasantries to more intent, they discovered the happy circumstance that they lived a mere fifty miles from one another. He, too, was a midwesterner who dreamed of waves and water. Morning bled into afternoon and then violet evening, the couple realized that their lives had crossed paths for a reason. It was fate. Kismet.

When their respective vacations ended, they had made plans to quit their jobs and meet back on the very beach on which they met in two months.


Jan sat on the beach searching the surfers on the water for Tom. As morning bled into afternoon and then violet evening, she realized that Tom was much like the waves, there one moment and gone the next.